An Easter Story of Renewal

Fourteen years ago tonight. It was "Holy Thursday," four days before Easter. I remember leaving the parking lot of the Denver Center for the Performing Arts feeling pretty good because I'd enjoyed a perfectly wonderful girl's night out. My four girlfriends and I had been out to dinner and then to a performance of "Ain't Nothin' but the Blues." The only problem was that I'd called my husband, Bruce Stewart, about 10 times throughout the day and he hadn't answered or called me back. I left messages at home and at his real estate office but hadn't received any calls or messages back from him. It was strange for me because he always called me at least once or twice during the day, especially to return my voice messages.

On this day, I had planned to stay in town after work for the show. I remember calling his office at lunchtime and asking if he had been in. They told me they hadn't seen or heard from him. "OK, he's busy elsewhere," I thought. No problem. The music was sweet and moving. It reminded me of my childhood and how much my dad loved the blues. At some point, I got lost in the music and forgot that I hadn't been able to talk with Bruce all day.

I called home when I left the theatre parking lot at 10:30 PM. No answer. I called again at least three times before I hit the HWY 285 climb to the foothills where we lived. It was an hour's drive from Denver to our home in Conifer. No answer. A quarter way up the mountain, I started to panic. I called my own answering machine at home and discovered all of my messages were there, none of them erased. I thought, "If I drive into the driveway and see his car and there are no lights in the cabin, he is sick or dead." I was shaky and began to scream as I rounded every bend on the mountain road. Panic gripped my entire body, and I had trouble driving coherently. When at last I pulled into our driveway and saw Bruce's car and no lights on in the house, I knew what to expect. I was sick to my stomach.

Entering the house, I was immediately stricken by the cold and stillness. Poudre, our beloved big cat, greeted me with fear in his eyes. He rubbed against my legs and then immediately went to the door to the basement, where he stood on his hind legs and let out a series of loud, gutteral meows. I pushed open the door and looked downward, calmly saying, "Bruce, Brucie, where are you? Bruce, I'm home..." as I descended the stairs. No answer. Poudre tore past me into the darkness. I was consumed with fear as I walked into the basement, flipping on the light switch, turning left toward the exit to the deck we had just built - and then, there he was, lying on the floor, stiff and immobile. I remember running to him and screaming, "NO! NO! NO!" No response. His eyes were open. He was cold to my touch. I screamed.....gut-wrenching screams that I didn't know I had in my power. Poudre fled back upstairs. He and I both knew that Bruce was dead. And the whole scene was beyond my comprehension. I could only scream and pound my fists on the floor.

I remember climbing the basement stairs, still screaming. My phone was in the kitchen and I called my friends, Michael and LuAnn. Lulu had been at the show with me earlier that night. Michael was one of Bruce's best friends. He answered and after listening to my hysteric ranting for a few seconds, he calmly asked me to call 911. He told me he was on his way up the mountain to be with me.

I called 911. The nice young man who answered asked me to hang up and call my neighbors to come be with me and then to call him right back. I called the best neighbors I've had my entire life, Ralph and Della Bouwmann, who immediately drove over, clad in their pajamas and bathrobes. The paramedics weren't far behind. The coroner came too.

Several hours later, I sat on my sofa clutching a pretty little quilt that local Conifer residents had made for these "situations" and taking comfort from Ralph, Della, and Michael. The coroner took Bruce's body to the mortuary. I was able to drive down the mountain to Michael's home where LuAnn and other friends were onhand to share my shock and denial. Deep down, I just wanted to die.

Today, I re-live this to remember that I survived, thanks to amazing friends and family who supported me, who believed that I could get through the experience of grief and renewal. Maybe they knew I would eventually meet people who could help me know that I had more to do this lifetime. I made a choice to grieve and grow.

I'm sharing this story to demonstrate that endings are also beginnings. We forget that. We think an ending is simply "the end." It's not necessarily the end - it's very often the "next chapter" or the "sequel" that can be surprisingly good.

Tonight I came home to Gary watering the plants in our backyard. Bindi Sue, our little Corgi, was in the house. I knew Gary had put her inside so she wouldn't get wet because she loves chasing the hose. Easter flowers were in bloom everywhere. I had awesome memories of yesterday's Easter celebration at our home, with family and friends, and especially the happy faces of my precious grandchildren. THIS is my life now. I would not have this blessed life with children, grandchildren and dogs were it not for the death of my wonderful first husband, Bruce.

LIFE is a gift with so many layers to unfold. Tonight I am grateful that a horrible, sorrowful tragedy evolved into renewal and profound blessings in my life.

LIFE is good!